


Bǎobèi

by Haicrescendo



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom!Zuko, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Gratuitous Pet Names, Learning To Communicate, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, aang is a better friend than anyone deserves, actually talking about their feelings, good sex and bad sex, idiots to lovers, lowkey a love song to Taco Bell, service top!sokka makes his illustrious return, sexual negotiation, virgin character, when in doubt: make it an afternoon delight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [Sokka is so drunk, and that’s the only reason that he’s able to tilt his head and press a kiss to Zuko’s messy dark hair. His shampoo smells amazing, or maybe that’s just him and Sokka’s dumb, horny lizard brain can’t handle it. He feels like he does it lightly (he tries to do it lightly), but not lightly enough that Zuko doesn’t notice.Zuko’s cheeks are flushed when he pulls his face out of Sokka’s neck to look at him. He’s warm and soft, even when he tilts his head to look up from under dark lashes. His tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lip.Sokka wants to bite it.“Again?” Zuko whispers.“Baby.”]Or,Two idiots in love.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 147
Kudos: 3541
Collections: HZH Horny ATLA Fic, gaang shit





	Bǎobèi

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey hey!! I’m back from my smut fast! And to celebrate that return, here’s some horny garbage.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please drop a line and let me know! I’ve been struggling a lot to reply to comments but I read and cherish every single one, and all of your feedback really helps to feed my motivation. Your continued love and support means so much to me. <3
> 
> If you’d rather screech at me on tumblr, I can be found @sword-and-stars.

* * *

  
  


Sokka’s head is fucking pounding.

He’s drunk, _so_ drunk. So, so, so drunk. Next to him on Toph’s couch, Zuko’s pressed up so close that if he was any closer at all, he’d be sliding up underneath Sokka’s clothes. He’s so close that he’s practically in Sokka’s lap, and the almost constant tension that normally simmers just under his skin is gone, replaced with the languid relaxation of the drunkenly content.

Sokka’s head pounds, and he’s not sure if it’s the bass from the music or his own heartbeat. 

The alcohol makes him brave.

“Baby,” he mumbles quietly. It feels right to call Zuko baby, even though it’s not something that he normally would do. Why _shouldn’t_ Sokka call him that? Zuko is his best friend, and he’s strong and he's sweet and he’s pretty, and Sokka can’t think of a single, solitary reason why he shouldn’t call him baby. “Baby.”

“Uh-huh?” Zuko asks. He looks a little dazed but not in a bad way, just drunk off his tits and possibly with a bit of a contact high from having to pee right after Mai had gone to go smoke in the bathroom. That’s the only explanation for Zuko’s sudden discovery of chill. 

Zuko has never chilled _in his life_.

Sokka is so drunk and has been in love for years, and it’s not _fair._ Zuko and his newfound chill are nowhere near close enough, even though Sokka can feel the warmth of his body through his t-shirt. Zuko leans in, face tipping into Sokka’s shoulder.

Zuko is _sniffing his t-shirt_ with no self-consciousness to speak of.

It’s so cute that the thin thread of Sokka’s self-control snaps.

“Come here, baby, please,” Sokka pleads, twists a little to get both of his hands on Zuko’s hips, and pulls. Zuko goes easily, swinging a leg over Sokka’s lap to straddle his thighs. From somewhere, someone might have whistled a little? That someone, however, was not Zuko and is therefore not what Sokka is paying attention to right now.

Sokka gets one really good look at bright, soft golden eyes before Zuko drops his face to nose at a patch of skin behind Sokka’s ear that makes him shiver and wraps his arms around his neck like they belong there. _They do, they do, they do,_ Sokka decides, just like Zuko belongs in his lap and his life and his heart. He smells like Fireball shots and the banana bread Ty Lee brought, because she’s a goddess who puts chocolate chips in it, and something else that Sokka can’t pin down.

“Am I heavy?” Zuko asks into his throat, and Sokka can _feel_ that smile that tips his lips against his skin. 

“Nah, you’re not heavy at all.” Sokka almost doesn’t recognize his voice. Is he in a porno? He sounds like he’s in a porno. Maybe he’s sleeping? Maybe he’s dreaming of being in a porno?

Only in a porno would Zuko _sit on his lap_ in the middle of Toph’s living room in front of god and everyone and drape himself over Sokka like he doesn’t think he needs to ask permission beforehand.

(He doesn’t, by the way. He hasn’t needed permission to do shit all since Sokka’s bisexual awakening in the showers after gym in high school. God.)

Sokka is so drunk, and that’s the only reason that he’s able to tilt his head and press a kiss to Zuko’s messy dark hair. His shampoo smells _amazing_ , or maybe that’s just him, and Sokka’s dumb, horny lizard brain can’t handle it. He feels like he does it lightly (he _tries_ to do it lightly), but not lightly enough that Zuko doesn’t notice.

Zuko’s cheeks are flushed when he pulls his face out of Sokka’s neck to look at him. He’s warm and soft, even when he tilts his head to look up from under dark lashes. His tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lip.

Sokka wants to _bite_ it.

“Again?” Zuko whispers.

“Baby.”

Zuko’s face is so close that Sokka can feel his breath ghost across his cheek. There isn’t a force on earth that can keep Sokka from lifting a hand to cradle his face, tilting his chin up. Zuko shivers, just a little, like he’s cold.

“...Again, Sokka? Please don’t make me ask again.”

“ _Baby._ ”

Sokka’s head is pounding music and drums, but he leans in anyway and kisses him. Zuko tastes the way he smells—like booze and banana bread and chocolate. The helpless little _oh_ sound that Sokka ends up swallowing is addictive. Can someone get drunk on another person? Sokka’s just asking.

You know.

For a friend.

He’s _definitely_ not asking for himself or anything.

Zuko freezes for just a second, like he wasn’t expecting Sokka to actually kiss him, before he melts into it. From where behind Sokka, there’s definitely a cheer, and the moment he pulls away from Zuko’s mouth to take a breath, someone’s handing them each a plastic shot glass full of something nuclear green.

He taps it to the matching one in Zuko’s hand and knocks it back.

The last thing he’s aware of that night is the taste of Zuko’s mouth and _baby, baby, baby._

* * *

  
  


Sokka is dying.

That’s all there is to it.

He’s dying at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Just leave him here in his bed to—

Sokka freezes.

This is _not_ his bed. Sokka’s bed has the same blue comforter he’s been using since middle school and, unless there’s such a thing as spontaneous color-blindness, has never once been warm red and russet. It doesn’t smell right, either. It smells good, but it’s not his.

Sokka slams his eyes shut.

_Fuck._

He’s heard stories about this, about dumb idiot college kids who get shitfaced at parties and end up at a stranger’s house, naked and missing half their shit. Sokka slaps a hand to his dick and is relieved to find that he’s wearing pants. Barely, because he’s literally only wearing his underwear, but pants are pants.

Sokka is also not alone in bed.

Someone’s curled up and cuddling contentedly against his chest, all dark hair and pale, smooth skin, and—

Oh god.

Sokka’s stomach twists.

Oh, _god._

Zuko shifts a little on his arms, and without looking, Sokka reaches downwards to fumble at his waist. He’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs too, _thank god._ They both pass the pants check at least.

Sokka hadn’t had nearly enough booze to black out or lose time, but trying to remember what happened last night is like watching a movie through a fishbowl. Like he was there but not _there,_ and trying to figure out what actually happened versus what his dumb, drunk brain perceived is a challenge. It’s all very wibbly wobbly, but what he does know is this: before last night, Sokka didn’t know what Zuko’s mouth tastes like, and now he does. Before last night, he didn’t know what Zuko’s slim waist felt like under his hands, or what it felt like to have him in his lap. 

And now he does.

Before last night, Sokka never would have _dared_ to call Zuko ‘baby’.

And now he does. And can. And did.

Oh god.

Sokka did _all of those things_.

_He_ remembers doing all of those things, but what if Zuko wakes up and...doesn’t? Sokka’s guts turn over, and he’s not sure if it’s the fear or the hangover. Sokka’s not sure that he can look his best friend in the eyes and pretend that he’s not thinking about his mouth instead.

As if on cue, Zuko stirs.

Sokka knows that he should let go of him but doesn’t want to. Zuko blinks blearily and rubs his nose against Sokka’s collarbone, still loose and hazy and cuddly—and the moment that he’s really, truly awake is a physical one. Zuko’s whole body goes coiled and rigid the instant he realizes where he is and that he’s not alone.

“Morning,” Sokka tells him, desperately trying for normal even as he screams internally, “How are you feeling?”

“...Oh my god.”

“Yeah, that’s the vibe.”

Still encircled in Sokka’s arms, Zuko rubs hard at his temples and keeps his eyes closed. Bare chest to bare chest, Sokka can feel his heart beating a reverberating thud that matches his own in intensity, if not in rhythm. Zuko’s breathing is uneven and shallow, like it always goes right before he panics.

“ _Oh, god.”_

“Not so fucking loud, dude. I’ve already got a marching band in here.”

Zuko buries his face in his hands but that’s not enough to hide the red that blooms high on his cheeks and creeps down his neck. Despite his own horror and mortification, Sokka can’t help but smile at it.

It may be the end of the world as he knows it, but Zuko never won’t be _cute_.

“I’m so sor— _fuck_ ,” Zuko grits out, “Fuck. I didn’t mean to—“

“...I did.”

Sokka’s heart hurts a little but the words are out and he can’t pull them back. He doesn’t even want to. Zuko goes very still. From shock? From horror? From fury? Sokka can’t tell.

“I meant to,” Sokka repeats. “The booze made me braver, but I meant to. If you...if you never want to talk about it again, if you want to pretend it never—“ Sokka cuts off when Zuko, doing things out of order as always, fumbles for his waistband and for Sokka’s, “Oh my god. We didn’t fuck or anything. Relax.”

Zuko doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t pull away but he doesn’t draw closer, either. For the first time in a long time, Sokka can’t get a read on him. Is he embarrassed? Is he mad? Is he relieved? 

Sokka’s about to keep running his mouth when Zuko finally moves. He doesn’t pull away or make a run for it, or anything else that Sokka expects. He just rolls over and presses his warm back to Sokka’s chest. He’s so still that Sokka can feel the tiny, nearly imperceptible trembles that vibrate through his body, like a bowstring stretched to breaking.

If Sokka’s going to ruin it, it’s already been ruined. He probably can’t fuck it up any more than he already has, he figures, and splays his fingers out over the plane of Zuko’s sternum to hold him snugly. It feels _right_ to hold him like this.

“Do you, uh, do you want to talk about it?”

It’s only then that Sokka realizes that he’s hard, that he’s _been_ hard, and that Zuko cannot possibly be unaware. There’s literally no space between them, plastered to one another in Zuko’s large bed, even though there’s always been plenty of room. 

Zuko drags in a shivery, shaky breath.

“No,” he says finally. “I don’t.”

He _rolls his hips_ against Sokka’s cock pressed up to the curve of his ass and twists, just a little, just enough that Sokka can see his face. Red, embarrassed, endearingly shy, and…

Eager.

Zuko’s not just interested, or curious, or a slutty drunk, because neither of them are drunk right now. _No one_ has ever looked at Sokka with the sheer amount of lust that Zuko’s got written all over his face right now. He looks Sokka in the eyes and gives another tiny, experimental rock against him in a way that is very much aware and very much on purpose.

Zuko knows, and he _wants,_ and Sokka is weak as shit and always has been. All Zuko ever had to do is want for Sokka to follow his lead.

It’s so easy to tip forward and press his lips to the back of Zuko’s neck, to scrape his teeth up soft skin to his ear. Zuko’s warm and pliant and _sensitive;_ the way he responds to touch is delicious and addictive, and Sokka thinks that he could spend a solid year with his mouth on that throat and come out of it happy. He doesn’t have to, though. 

Zuko reaches up and grabs Sokka’s hand that’s not gripping onto his waist, drags it down his belly to settle at the waistband of his underwear.

“Touch?” He whispers, “You can—you should—“

That’s all the invitation that Sokka needs. 

“Okay, baby, okay,” the endearment falls out of Sokka’s mouth like it was made for him, and Sokka remembers that drunk Zuko had liked it. Apparently, sober Zuko likes it too. “I’ll touch you any way you want.”

He’d rather die than disobey, anyway, and slips his hand down Zuko’s underwear to grip his cock. Zuko heaves a hard breath and shudders, both hands wrapping around Sokka’s arm to hold it flat against his body.

“Like this? I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Y-yeah,” Zuko breathes, and tips his head for easier access to his neck, letting his thighs spread incrementally. Sokka’s been so focused on his own erection that he hadn’t noticed _Zuko_ ’s, not until he got his hand around him. He’s hot and hard and Sokka can’t resist rubbing his thumb over the head; he’s going to keep this memory for the rest of his life. “Please.”

Sokka strokes him at a leisurely pace and drinks in Zuko’s quiet, breathy sighs. He’s really, _really_ quiet, and it makes Sokka wonder how loud he can be or if he’s making himself hold back. Zuko’s unfairly pretty and fits unfairly well against his body, and Sokka rubs his dick against his ass to the same rhythm of his hand.

Zuko’s next breath sounds almost like a sob, so much so that Sokka has to tilt his face and kiss him properly, hangover breath or no hangover breath.

“How are we doing?” He asks in between kisses and lipping at the shell of Zuko’s unscarred ear. “Feeling good?”

Zuko swallows hard and doesn’t say a word.

“Come on,” Sokka says encouragingly, “Talk to me. I won’t know if you don’t say anything.” 

Zuko twists around a little to goggle at him.

“Do you, I mean…” he releases Sokka’s arm to make a vague, hand wavy gesture. “Uh. Do you want…?”

“All I want,” Sokka emphasizes his words with a slightly tighter grip around Zuko’s cock and a messy, filthy kiss, “Is for you to be happy and relaxed and comfy. Do you think that you can get out of your head for a minute?”

Zuko has never, _not once,_ in the span of their entire friendship, gotten out of his head, but it’s worth a try. Who knows? Maybe this is when it finally happens. Zuko doesn’t want to talk about it, so Sokka doesn’t have to talk about it, but he’s not _stupid._ Sokka meant to kiss him last night and he meant to get him into his lap and he meant to call him baby, and it’s clear, even though Zuko _doesn’t want to talk about it,_ that he meant it, too.

That’s something that Sokka can work with.

If Zuko would rather use his body for honesty instead of his words, then Sokka can work with that. As long as Zuko wants, then Sokka can work with that, even if he doesn’t know how to use his words.

This is not how Sokka expected to spend his Saturday morning. He fully expected to wake up in his own bed, probably feeling like death, in the middle of the afternoon, and sleep the day away. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to look Zuko in the face for a little while, especially not knowing right away if he remembered what they’d done the night before. He certainly wouldn't have expected to find himself aggressively spooning his best friend, hand down his pants, and wringing every noise he possibly can out of him.

He’s not complaining, certainly, but here he is.

“God, you’re fucking pretty,” Sokka murmurs. The compliment is what finally tears a real, genuine moan out of Zuko, startlingly loud in contrast to how quiet he’s been throughout this whole thing. “That’s something you like, baby? I’ve always thought you were pretty. Pretty _all_ the time—but god, like this? If I’d known you’d liked it, I’d have told you forever ago.”

Zuko’s eyes slam shut and he sniffles, just a little bit. 

Sokka wants to curl up around him and never, ever let him go.

Zuko’s shaking. Maybe he’s cold? Sokka peels his free hand off of the divots in his hip and tugs the comforter up over the both of them.

“Do you want me to make you come, honey? Can I do that?”

Zuko nods so hard that his hair flops into his eyes.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says with feeling, “Yes, please, please do that.”

Sokka is just as charmed by the enthusiasm as he is by the shyness. He tosses off the blanket and rolls so that Zuko’s on his back, and takes his hand out of his underwear just long enough to peel them off his hips and down his legs and toss them onto the floor. Exposed and without a single stitch on him, Sokka between his thighs like he belongs there, Zuko’s boldness melts back into insecurity. Sokka has to pry his hands away from his face to pepper him with kisses—his lips, cheeks, forehead, temples, the very edges of his scar all deserve attention.

“Anything you want,” Sokka breathes into his mouth and frames Zuko’s face with both hands, “You should ask for.”

Zuko’s eyes are huge and wide, and Sokka has to wonder what kind of mediocre partners he’s had if this is the kind of thing that throws him off. Being able to ask for what you want is, like, the bare minimum, right? But Zuko’s always been garbage at asking for what he wants; even now, away from Ozai for years, and shit still lingers.

Sokka won’t hold it against him.

“I don’t—I mean, I don’t know what—“ Zuko shuts his mouth with a snap and settles for glaring instead, the way he always does when he gets too overwhelmed to function like people. Sokka smiles at him, completely charmed, and kisses his mouth until it relaxes.

“It’s _okay,”_ he says. “Why don’t you let me figure it out, and you just worry about telling me when you don’t like something? Would that make you feel better?”

Zuko visibly swallows. He looks _nervous_ —more nervous than Sokka is entirely comfortable with, to be honest, and that anxious face is what gives him pause. If Zuko can’t talk to him and he’s going to wear a face like that, then Sokka needs to quit letting his wiener do the walking.

He sighs a little, not disappointed but accepting anyway. Zuko jumps and lets out a startled squeak when Sokka rolls over, taking Zuko with him so he’s flat on his chest.

“What are you…?”

“Uh-uh,” Sokka tells him firmly. “You’re stressing out.”

“I’m not stressed out!” Zuko protests with a scowl. “It’s _fine_.”

“It’s not fine!”

Sokka kisses him, very gently, on the mouth, squeezing at the back of Zuko’s neck. Zuko sighs and lets his eyes slide shut.

“Whatever you want is fine,” Sokka elaborates, “Whatever you don’t want is also fine. If all you wanna do is lay here and kiss and cuddle, I’m down. If you want to do more than that, I’m down. If you don’t wanna do anything, that’s fine too. But if I think that you’re gonna just let me do whatever, even if you don’t want to, I’m going to have a problem with that.” Sokka tries to word it as gently as he can but Zuko still flinches. Sokka rubs his hands up and down his back to try and relax him. “Being a little nervous with someone new is fine. It’s _normal_. But you’re new to me, too, and I need to know that you want it. We can always just, you know, talk about it.”

They’re gonna have to talk about it, Sokka realizes. Which means, _somehow,_ getting Zuko to use his words. So he does the only thing he can do, and waits.

“I just—“ Zuko's voice, when he finally speaks, is very small. Sokka’s found that he leans towards shouting or silence and not a whole lot of in-between. “I don’t really...know what I like? I want to be good at—at _stuff,_ but I don’t know if I am.” It takes a lot for him to say that much, Sokka knows. Zuko’s calmed down a _lot_ since they were dumb teenagers, but he still has his pride and he’s easily embarrassed.

He’s also unexpectedly shy, for someone who yells and hollers as much as he does.

Sokka makes an encouraging noise for him to continue and rubs circles into the dips behind Zuko’s ears with his thumbs. 

“I don’t really know what I like, but I know what I _want.”_

Sokka rewards him with a kiss on the forehead that somehow manages to smooth out the anxious furrow between his brows.

“Okay,” he says, “I can work with that. I know what I like, and I _also_ know what I want. What do _you_ want out of this?” Because Sokka wants _everything_. He’s always been greedy and wants everything that Zuko wants to give him, even if it’s not as much as he would like. He wants his body, certainly, but he wants his heart too. He wants his time, and his care, and his brilliant, dorky brain.

Zuko’s beautiful and bright and goofy and there’s no way that Sokka can ever really deserve him, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting, anyway. 

Zuko goes red, and it’s precious, and it’s everything Sokka has in him to keep his hands to himself as best he can and wait him out. Even if all he wants to do right now is touch and hold and squeeze until Zuko tells him to stop.

“...You,” he finally mumbles. It sounds like it kills him to say it. “Just...whatever you feel like giving me, I guess.”

Sokka’s heart twists hard in his chest. Zuko looks like he’s trying really, _really_ hard to be okay with that, and fails miserably at it. Watching him try that hard is physically painful, and Sokka can’t take it anymore.

“I wanna date you,” Sokka blurts out before his stupid, hungover brain can catch up. Zuko freezes like a statue, fingers instinctively closing around Sokka’s arms. “And kiss you. And fuck you! And—and hold your hand. All that shit. I’ll take whatever you’ll give me but I want, god, _baby._ I want all of it.” He might as well put it all out there, right? Better to know what his options are now than be sad and disappointed later—

Sokka’s choo-choo train of speculation gets derailed almost immediately by Zuko flinging his arms around him as best he can with both of them supine in his bed, and kissing him soundly.

“I want all of it!” Zuko says in a rush, holds onto him with both hands, buries his face in Sokka’s throat. This time, Sokka doesn’t even try to fight back the tide of warm affection he has for this man, or the smile. “I do. I want all of it.” 

He’s so _earnest_. Sokka cannot handle Zuko’s brand of shameless honesty on a normal day but he’s weak as shit and Zuko’s _naked_ (Sokka is ninety-nine percent sure that Zuko’s actually forgotten that he’s naked, but Sokka sure as hell hasn’t) and _cuddly_. Sokka never stood a chance.

“All of it, then,” he decides firmly, “We both want all of it. Deal?” His heart is pounding but his headache’s been chased away by the sheer elation thrumming through his body.

Zuko’s smile is shy and exceptionally sweet.

“Deal,” he replies, grabbing at Sokka’s hand and give it a firm shake.

“ _That’s_ how you make a deal?” Sokka can’t resist teasing him, “You’ve had your tongue in my mouth. I think you can do better than that.”

Sokka’s ‘better than that’ comment is interpreted, apparently, as _please put your hand down my pants._

Well. He’s not _wrong._

Sokka’s also not complaining, especially when Zuko’s hand wrapped around his cock feels so goddamned _good_. He’s thought about this before, of course he has, but now it’s _happening_ and better than he ever thought that something as innocuous as a hand could feel. It’s only a hand, but Sokka shivers anyway.

“Oh,” Zuko mumbles and has the nerve to sound surprised, “You’re big.”

“Baby,” he says, very quietly, in between a hissed out gasp of breath, “Baby.”

“Yes?”

“You are so unbelievably unfair,” Sokka tells him, extracting Zuko’s hand from his pants and planting a kiss on his knuckles. “Keep that up and I’m gonna be useless.”

Zuko opens his mouth, probably to say something snarky about how Sokka’s already useless, and _wow_ they’ve been friends for a long time if the guy’s already living in his brain. Sokka shuts him up using his new, very favorite method. Zuko, distracted from his own sass, sighs contentedly into his mouth as if he’s just gotten exactly what he wanted.

“Sweetheart, I know that, like, we kinda _just_ talked about it. Barely talked about it, really,” Sokka talks like he’s talking about the weather, but his two matching handfuls of Zuko’s ass say otherwise, “But _are_ we taking fucking off the table?” He’s cool with it, really. He’s not an _asshole_. He’s not the type of person to push hard at stuff like that, anyway. He’s definitely easy, no doubt about that, but he’s also easygoing. 

If Zuko would rather wait, if that’s not something he wants to do at all, then Sokka is adaptable.

But if Sokka was asked if he wanted to? He sure as shit would not pass a polygraph if he said no.

Zuko stares at him. His eyes are huge and Sokka’s not entirely sure why—that’s where they were going before, right? Before Sokka hit the brakes and made them talk about it? He’s pretty sure that’s where they were going with that.

It’s better this time, though, because while Zuko looks surprised, he looks way less stressed. Sokka can relate. He’s fine banging a booty call, but he’d rather bang a boyfriend, especially if his boyfriend happens to also be his best friend that he’s been absolutely stupid over for years.

“I mean,” he amends, “We don’t have to—“

“I want to!” Zuko interrupts. “I want to.”

“Now? With me?” How the fuck did Sokka manage to stumble his way into his own personal porno? He can’t even think of how many times he’s thought about how this could play out. He’s imagined romance, he’s imagined just losing absolutely all of his inhibitions and doing it somewhere ridiculous and spur of the moment. A horny brain is a terrible thing to waste. 

All those different options and he never imagined it quite like this.

Somehow, reality manages to be better than fantasy.

“Unless you think I’ve managed to scrape up _two_ dumbass boyfriends named Sokka in the—“ Zuko pretends to check his wrist for an imaginary watch, “—half hour that I’ve been awake, I’m pretty sure that you’re now the default.”

“Just the default?” Sokka teases. “Wow. I feel so cherished.”

Zuko reaches out like he’s going to grab Sokka by his non-existent collar and then suddenly seems to realize that he’s stark naked and has been for a good goddamn while. He glances down, swallows hard, and immediately begins to go red all the way down his neck. It’s _adorable._

“Um,” is all he manages to get out.

Sokka reaches out to frame his face with his hands and squeezes his cheeks.

“Baby,” he says kindly, “Relax. It’s _fine._ Whatever you want.” God, Sokka is an idiot who will give this man anything he asks for. A weak, smitten idiot. For someone who should at least have some idea of what he’s doing, considering _how easily he’s doing it,_ Zuko looks just a little bit clueless.

Sokka helps him out by steadying him around the waist and rolling back to their original position: Zuko on his back and Sokka comfortably between his thighs. It feels good to fit himself into Zuko’s spaces, and better still that they’re spaces left open for him. _For him._

“Would you rather top, or nah? I switch, so I’m down for whatever.”

“Um.”

Sokka smirks, just a little, and rolls his hips for just a bit of friction. Both of them have gone a bit soft from too much talking and not enough doing, but it doesn’t take much at all before Sokka Jr. is perking back up in interest.

“Words. Use your words.”

Zuko glares briefly, swallows again, and then stares resolutely up at the ceiling like that’s easier than looking Sokka in the face. Which just isn’t fair, Sokka decides, and tips his head forward to scrape his teeth along Zuko’s collarbone. It draws out a quiet, shaky gasp that sounds almost this edge of painful.

“You, uh. You should. To me,” Zuko finally manages, and then tilts his face up like he’s asking to be kissed. How could Sokka ever say no to a request like that?

“You’ve got stuff?” Stuff is important, Sokka’s dumb, noodle brain insists once he gets his temporary fill of Zuko’s tongue in his mouth. Stuff like condoms and lube are _important_ , even though he’s one hundred percent sure that Zuko’s over-anxious, type-A personality is always on top of his sexual health.

Zuko nods and wriggles a little so he can bat at the drawer of his nightstand. Sokka opens it and pulls out an unopened box of condoms and a bottle of lube. The good shit, Sokka notes, and nearly full, if not entirely full. Poor guy must be having a dry spell. With luck, neither of them will be having a dry spell for a very long time.

“Look at you, Mr. Well Prepared.” Zuko had lost a bit of his blush but it reignites now. He squirms underneath Sokka, who sets aside the lube and condoms to ruck his fingernails gently up Zuko’s sides. “Good boy.”

The praise _does_ something to Zuko. His cock gives a visible twitch, and he stares up at Sokka, eyes huge and surprised, like he’s never seen him properly before. It’s always fun to stumble upon somebody’s hot spots when you’re not actively looking for them, and Sokka files that note away for future use. He definitely plans on using that knowledge for good, evil, and also for mutual satisfaction. Zuko likes to be praised? Well, Sokka is _more_ than happy to oblige.

With a sharp grin, Sokka dips his hand between Zuko’s thighs and touches the pad of his fingertips directly on Zuko’s entrance. Zuko jerks like he’s been burned. He’s so sensitive and so responsive in every way that Sokka thinks that he could lay here with his hands on him for the rest of his life and die happy. Luckily, he won’t need to.

“You’re gonna let me in here, baby?” Sokka’s always chatty in bed; his bed partners either love it or hate it and nothing in between. Zuko loves it. His pupils dilate and he’s fully hard again. “You want me to put my cock in here?”

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, because that’s what Zuko chose. He takes it literally anyway, nodding hard. Sokka can’t resist getting his hands in his hair, stroking dark bangs away from Zuko’s forehead and stroking him balls to ass just the same. That drags out a high, shocked whine.

“Oh my god, sweetheart. Baby. You’re so fucking cute.” Sokka’s been smitten forever and hadn’t thought that he could possibly feel any more, but that was a lie.

Especially when Zuko scowls at him, a little indignant.

“I’m not _cute_ ,” he grumbles.

Sokka snorts.

“I don’t know who the hell said that you weren’t cute but they were wrong and they _lied_ to you. You’re adorable.” Zuko doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t have to. All he has to do is let Sokka have this. Which he does, probably solely on the basis that he’s naked, and Sokka’s got his fingers on some very intimate areas, and he’s distracted enough to let it go. 

It doesn’t hurt, even a little bit, that Sokka’s filterless, brain-to-mouth dialogue is visibly doing it for Zuko, either. His best friend is staring at him, wide-eyed, as if nobody has ever talked dirty to him in bed. 

“You’re gonna feel so good around me. You want me to fill you up, sweetheart?”

Sokka thinks he’s going to literally pass out and die right here in Zuko’s bed when Zuko scoots himself a little bit closer and nods, worrying at his lower lip.

“Uh-huh,” he’s so quiet that Sokka can barely hear him over his own heartbeat, “That’s what I want.”

And then Sokka has no choice but to fumble desperately for Zuko’s lube, pop the cap and spread some onto his fingers. He rubs at them a little to warm it, because he has manners, and then rubs a little at Zuko’s entrance until he can work in a fingertip. He’s tense and tight, and it takes him a while to relax enough that Sokka thinks he can take another.

He’s so stupidly, idiotically horny that his hands are shaking. Sokka hasn’t been shaky during sex…ever? He’s shaky as shit right now, though.

“You’re good?” He asks. The look on Zuko’s face isn’t super thrilled but he hasn’t flinched or made any indication of pain, and he nods his agreement without hesitation. It’s not that weird, in Sokka’s experience; some people enjoy the preparation process and some people don’t.

It seems that Zuko is one of the latter.

“Not a fan of this part, huh? 

“...Guess not,” is what it sounds like Zuko says in reply, but he’s quiet enough that Sokka can’t be entirely sure. Zuko’s so quiet in general—every noise that Sokka gets out of him feels like a personal achievement, his own, shiny gold star. Not everyone is as vocal as Sokka in bed but it’s always a little easier, just on the basis of being able to tell what feels good and what he’s doing right—

After a few minutes with three fingers inside, Sokka fumbles hastily for the condom.

“Can I—is that enough?” He asks. It takes a try and a half to get it on.

“It-it’s enough,” Zuko says. He’s looking a little bit nervous again, and Sokka kisses his cheek. “I’m ready.” Sokka’s very proud of the way his hands have finally stopped shaking. “How are you so _calm_?”

Sokka snorts a laugh.

“Calm? Oh my god.” He grabs for Zuko’s hand and presses it to his chest to feel the hard, pounding thrum of his heartbeat. “I’m a lot of things. Calm is not one of them. Are you good to go?”

Zuko eyeballs him and then nods.

Sokka gives his cock another generous coating of lube and begins to press in, hands on Zuko’s hips to hold him. He’s hot and tight and feels _amazing_ , so good that Sokka can’t fucking breathe. Immediately, Zuko heaves a sharp, wheezing inhale, covers his face with his arms, and clenches so hard that Sokka thinks he’s trying to snap his dick off.

“Baby, honey, sweetheart, you have to relax, come on,” Sokka babbles, leaning forward to pry Zuko’s hands off his face. “You’re gonna _hurt_ yourself.”

And freezes completely.

Zuko’s golden eyes are glassy, wet and red-rimmed.

Sokka flounders.

“Oh my god, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Sokka makes to pull out the inch or two he’d gotten into him but Zuko hooks his ankles behind his back and shakes his head hard and won’t let go. He’s trembling a little. “Talk to me, you have to talk to me.”

“It’s fine, I’m _fine,”_ Zuko grits out between his teeth, “It's supposed to hurt a little, right?”

A strange, ominous sort of feeling niggles in Sokka’s guts.

“‘Supposed to’...you’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”

The idea is patently ridiculous. There isn’t a chance in hell that Sokka’s managed to sleep with as many people as he has and Zuko...hasn’t. Right?

“Research counts, right?”

Sokka isn’t sure whether he wants to throw himself or Zuko out a window. He settles for wrenching backwards, stomach twisting when Zuko flinches a little at the drag, and bundles him up into his arms.

“You stupid asshole, research _does not count_.” Zuko sniffles a little and Sokka has to squeeze him, if only to make his own heart calm down. “Why didn’t you just...say something? You just let me do the horny speed prep and go? The fuck, sweetie. I _hurt_ you.”

“Only a little.”

“It’s not supposed to _hurt._ Like it’s got a bit at the beginning where it doesn’t feel super great, until it does, but it isn’t supposed to hurt. Not like that.” Sokka feels like he wants to cry right now. He does not cry, but it’s a close thing. “Why wouldn’t you just say something?”

He manages only because of the pathetic sniff that Zuko muffles into his shoulder. He wants to be mad, but he’s mostly just worried. Being mad would probably be easier for his heart to take.

“You were gonna make it weird,” Zuko grumbles. “Everyone gets weird about _virginity._ Like it’s something fucking special.”

Sokka is going to murder this man and then summon a demon to bring him back.

“The only thing special about it is that I want to, oh, I don’t know, _not wreck you in the process_. God. You dumb shit.” Sokka makes, for a second, like he’s going to smack Zuko upside the head but in the end he doesn’t have it in him, and smooths his hair down instead. “I would have made it special because I would have taken more fucking care with you instead of just figuring that you were good, because you didn’t say anything. Like an asshole.”

Zuko’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that Sokka’s indignation, barely-warm and short-lived as it is, has a chance to cool.

“I’m sorry,” he offers eventually, peering up at Sokka through dark, damp lashes. “You’re right. I should have said something.”

“Damn right you should have,” Sokka agrees, not unkindly but with appropriate seriousness. “Sex is _fun._ If it hurts like that, you’re doing it wrong. Unless you’re into that. Which I’m not, for the record. It’s not cool, okay? I’m really not cool with the fact that you let me hurt you.”

Zuko looks like he’s gotten the message, except that now he’s stiff and motionless in Sokka’s grip and won’t quite look at him, and that’s not good either. Sokka squeezes him extra tight until he squeaks.

“We’re okay, okay? That wasn’t okay, but _we’re_ okay. You just...miscalculated.” It’s a generous assessment at best and they both know it, but Sokka is a good, magnanimous winner who knows Zuko’s push-pull through years of trial and error. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that Zuko’s only had reliable relationships for those past few years. “Believe me?”

Eventually, Zuko nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I believe you. Can—“ he clears his throat a little, “Can we try again? Now? The sex thing.”

Sokka goggles at him.

“ _The sex thing,_ ” he repeats incredulously. “The sex thing.” He laughs outright at Zuko’s expression of indignant outrage. “You’re _precious._ Yes, we can try _the sex thing_ again.”

“Now?”

“I thought all that martial arts, zen meditation bullshit your uncle put you through was supposed to teach you patience.”

“All I learned was how much I like weapons and how to fake it til you make it.”

That sounds...accurate. That sounds really accurate.

“Yes, we can try the sex thing again, _now._ You absolute pain in the ass.” Zuko opens his mouth. “One comment about how it’s a pain in _your_ ass, and I’m telling everyone we know that you called it _the sex thing_.” Zuko closes his mouth. “And also—“ Sokka grins, bright as the sun over water, and noses reverently into Zuko’s hair, “We do it my way.”

“Don’t you dare make this weird for me—“

“Oh, it’s gonna be so weird, and you’re gonna shut the fuck up about it and like it.”

Sokka kisses Zuko’s temple and his forehead and the tip of his nose, all the way down his jawline before finally laying one on his lips. Zuko chases it like water in the desert, tangles his fingers in Sokka’s loose hair and tries to tug him closer.

“I’m gonna make it so good for you. _Really_ good.”

“It wasn’t... _bad_ ,” Zuko, discovering diplomacy for once in his goddamned life, interjects. 

Cute, but no.

“Okay, so sexytime rule number something: _not bad_ is the bare minimum and a low, low bar. We are better than that. _I_ am better than that.” Zuko looks thrown and a little shaken, and Sokka kisses him, hot and filthy. “And so are _you._ ”

This time, when Sokka drizzles Zuko’s ridiculous, expensive lube onto his fingers and presses in, he does so with the gentleness that Zuko deserves. It’s easier to do this from behind, especially for a beginner, but Zuko looks anxious when Sokka suggests it, so it gets shelved for the time being. He knows what he’s doing, at least, and isn’t going to be complaining about seeing more of Zuko’s face through this. Flat on his back and with his hips propped up with a pillow, Zuko looks a little shy, a little embarrassed, and unfairly pretty in every single way. 

“How are we feeling? Better?”

“Better,” Zuko manages, and doesn’t even cover his face up. “Feels—kinda weird, but better? Not a bad weird.”

“Yeah, this is kinda the ‘oh god, this is a thing’ part of the process. You have to tell me if I hurt you or need to slow down.” That won’t be an issue because Sokka has already decided that he’s proceeding at the approximate rate of a snail’s pace and that if Zuko’s going to start complaining, it’s going to be because he wants him to hurry up. Which, in Sokka’s opinion, is exactly what he gets for being a butthead.

Despite the fumbling rush of earlier, it takes less time to get two fingers into him. Sokka would have thought that it would be more stressful or take longer, but Zuko opens up for him easily.

“Who were you thinking about when you bought this?” He asks teasingly, accepting the off-center swat that Zuko lands to his shoulder as his due, “Was it me?” He’s only teasing, but Zuko goes red. “Holy shit. It was me? You went into a store—“ or the Internet, whatever, Sokka’s not picky, “And thought about me when you bought this?”

“Don’t _talk_ about it.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Sokka punctuates his words with a careful thrust of his fingers that pulls a reluctant whine out of man underneath him, “I’m going to talk about _everything_. So you thought of me, and then what? Did you try it out? You seem like you’d have a toy or something.”

“Um.” Zuko’s unfocused and distracted by sensation. “Um. Fingers, a little bit.” 

It’s very fun to time the motion of his fingers with Zuko’s unsteady breaths, Sokka decides with shameless delight. He presses his advantage and when Zuko’s tense muscles uncoil and he thinks that he can, Sokka adds a third finger to join the first two.

“And how did that go?” 

“Not—not great? Not great.”

“Am I better?”

Sokka already knows the answer. He can feel it buzzing under his skin and in the way Zuko’s staring at him like he’s going to disappear if he looks away, and the way his fingers clench in the sheets by his head.

“I’m better, right?” He’s been very careful and very gentle but Sokka’s next thrust is sharp and testing for the right spot and it’s _good_. It’s so good. Zuko thinks it’s good too, if the way his breath gets shaken loose is any indication. “It’s better when someone can take care of you? Please let me take care of you—I’m gonna give you everything you want, okay?”

“You’re making it— _fuck, Sokka, fuck—_ making it weird again.”

“Oh, what, by caring about you?” Sokka stops the purposeful, incremental torture of his brand new boyfriend and uses his free hand to tip Zuko’s chin up. “I’m going to take you apart, sweetheart.” He’s not even really doing anything but talking, but Zuko squirms a little anyway. “I’m going to take you apart, exactly as you deserve, and I’m going to fuck you, exactly as you deserve. Gonna be so good for you, honey, so good, okay? Let me be good for you.”

“You can— _ah!—_ be good for me by fucking me.”

“I am fucking you, though. Are you saying that fingers aren’t enough?” Zuko’s little wheezy gasp of shock and pleasure is addictive and Sokka will do anything to hear it again. He grinds his cock against the hollow of his palm with enough pressure that Zuko knows exactly what he’s doing. “You want me to give you this instead?”

Sokka expects some token sass for being teased so much, but Zuko’s past the point of that mattering, apparently. He nods hard and spreads his thighs just that much more, angles his hips up for easier access. He doesn’t have to use his words for Sokka to know that this is the equivalent of begging for it.

“Trust me, baby, you’ll get it. Everything you want, every single fucking thing, okay?”

The noise that comes out of Zuko is hard to interpret—not quite a moan, not quite a gasp, or even a sob, but Sokka thinks he has a pretty good idea. Zuko’s biggest weakness has always been _care._ He throws himself around like he wants to be some tough guy, but he won’t watch animal movies unless he knows for sure that nobody dies, and Sokka has seen how delicately Zuko treats his uncle around certain times of the year. Zuko is soft and kind and sweet, and cares so hard about just about everyone except for himself.

Zuko is not used to getting what he wants, and tries hard to pretend that he doesn’t to avoid disappointment. Zuko acts like he’s okay with rough treatment when what he wants is to be treated gently.

Sokka is going to take that part of him, and he’s going to _ruin_ it with all the love he has in his heart.

So, Sokka takes his time and drags it out until Zuko’s eyes are wet for a different reason, until he’s so deep in feeling and pleasure that he quits demanding that Sokka hurry up and lets himself take everything that Sokka’s pushing at him.

“Feeling good?”

“F-feels good. Feels good, so good, _please—”_ Zuko’s downright chatty when he’s horny and overwhelmed enough to explode, and probably isn’t even conscious of what he’s asking for.

“Okay, okay, okay, baby, okay,” Sokka says in a rush, “You’re good this time, for real? You tell me if it hurts.” Zuko nods and twists a little, as if that alone will bring them closer. The sound that tears itself out of Zuko’s mouth when Sokka takes his fingers out of him is loud and shameless and fucking _beautiful_ , and it’s going to stick with him for the rest of his natural life. Sokka replaces his fingers with the head of his cock. It’s an easier slide, excruciatingly slow and excruciatingly _good_.

Zuko gives a sharp inhale and holds.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Sokka reminds him, “Breathe, breathe, breathe. You’re doing so good. _So good_ , okay? You’re fucking perfect, god, who said you were even _allowed?_ ” Zuko shivers under him, fingers white knuckled in his sheets. “How are we doing? Good? Better?”

“Better,” Zuko manages, “A lot better.”

“Good, good, good,” Sokka babbles. The best thing about having both of his hands free is that he can _use_ them. He untangles one of Zuko’s and laces their fingers together, uses the other to cradle his chin so he can kiss him. Fucking and kissing should go together, he’s always thought, and the way that Zuko kisses him back like the everything he needs can be found in Sokka’s mouth is something that he could get drunk on. 

It’s slow, slow, slow going and by the time he’s all the way in, Sokka feels kind of like he’s going to die. From heat, from sensation, from the fact that he’s here at all, naked in Zuko’s bed and trying desperately to drown in him. Zuko’s thighs feel right locked around his hips.

“Still good?”

Zuko blinks up at him and tilts his head like he hasn’t actually heard him. He looks dazed and fucked-out already, his briefly-softened cock hard and full and begging for attention again.

“Good?” Sokka repeats, and can’t resist reaching down to stroke him, root to tip, thumbing at the head and swallowing the overstimulated cry that Zuko can’t keep to himself. “Talk to me.” Zuko’s statue still. “Tell me when I can move. You feel so good. You’re doing so good.”

Zuko, still adjusting to the stretch and pressure and the feeling of being so full, spends a good moment motionless and breathing hard through his teeth. He’s hot and tight around Sokka, and everything in Sokka’s body screams for movement, for friction, for more, more, _more._ He doesn’t give his body what it wants. He _waits_.

Zuko’s hands find Sokka’s sides, fingertips leaving warm brands on his hips, along his ribs, his chest, his shoulders. It’s not an inherently sexual touch, but it’s sexy anyway. It’s a grounding, comforting touch that makes Sokka’s soft heart want to roar in his throat. It’s vulnerable, and it says something very important about how Zuko’s feeling right now, that he touches Sokka like that.

Finally, _finally_ , he gives a tentative, testing rock of his hips that has Sokka seeing stars.

“You—you can,” his words come out in a whisper-gasp, “You can, you should—Sokka, Sokka, please—“

“Okay, I’ve got you, okay,” Sokka tells him, cradles his face in his hands and squeezes, kisses every part of Zuko that he can get his lips on. “I know, I’ve got you.”

It’s both the easiest and hardest thing that Sokka’s ever done, to drag himself out of Zuko and then back in, so slowly and gently that it feels kind of like dying. He sets a slow, careful pace and can’t resist leaning back a little to get a better look. It’s gorgeous and absolutely filthy to watch his own cock go in and out of him.

“Sweetheart, _sweetheart_ , if you could see yourself right now,” he says, awestruck and starstruck, tugs Zuko just a little closer with his hands on his hips, “You look amazing with my cock in you. You take it so good, honey. Does it feel good? It looks like it feels good, look at you.”

“F-fuck— _Sokka,_ Sokka, fuck—“ Zuko looks briefly mortified at the noise that Sokka drags out of him on his next thrust and makes a half-hearted attempt to muffle himself with a hand over his mouth. Sokka tugs it away with a chuckle and drops a kiss to Zuko’s knuckles. 

“God, I wanna stay here forever,” Sokka whispers, reverent, hissing when Zuko’s teeth scrape over the skin of his neck, when strong arms wrap around him and pull him so close that he can feel the whole line of Zuko’s body, face to face, chest to chest, melding point to melting point. “Who needs to get out of bed, anyway?”

Zuko mumbles something incoherent into his neck that sounds like _work_ or _food_ or something else equally irrelevant when he compares it to how sex feels right now.

“That’s what working from home is for. Grubhub. We’ll bribe Aang to bring food every couple of days. Whatever. Whatever keeps you here with me.”

Zuko’s orgasm surprises both of them when it happens. Obviously, Sokka’s doing his damndest to be the best lay of his life and Zuko seems to be expending exactly no extra effort in being Sokka’s, which feels criminally unfair. But it’s not like he’s rushing or trying that hard to get him off in a hurry; he’s mostly just enjoying himself and making sure that _Zuko_ is enjoying himself.

He’s not trying _that hard._ It’s just that easy.

So it’s a bit of a shock when out of nowhere, Zuko’s breath hitches hard and he’s grabbing Sokka by the wrist and shoving it between them. It doesn’t take a whole for Sokka’s brain to catch up and all he has to do is jerk him twice, three times tops, before Zuko’s entire body coils like a snapped bowstring and he comes with a soft cry that gets muffled into Sokka’s warm, sweaty shoulder. Sokka grips him by the hips and fucks him hard and deep through it until he’s pliant and loose-limbed and shivering with aftershocks, semen quickly cooling on his belly.

“Sweetheart, can I keep going?” Sokka leans over to ask, physically tilting Zuko’s face to look at him. He looks out of his head and more relaxed than Sokka’s ever seen him, blinking dazedly and craning his chin up for a breathy, open-mouthed kiss. “Can I? Please?”

“Yeah, uh-huh, do that,” Zuko mumbles, reeling Sokka back in so that he can bury his face in the side of his neck, “You should definitely do that. Still feels really good.”

“Okay, good. Okay.” Sokka buries his hands in Zuko’s dark hair and kisses his temple, curling himself around Zuko’s frame to chase his own pleasure for real this time.

It’s almost criminally easy for Sokka to get his. He doesn’t have to work that hard before sensation peaks, crests, and slams into him with the force of a battering ram, and he’s coming wordlessly into Zuko’s body with a shameless groan. Zuko sighs into his ear and clings onto him tightly until his hips stop stuttering, and the tiredness hits like a blanket being dropped onto his shoulders.

“Oh my god, Zuko. Jesus,” is all Sokka can manage. He barely has the energy to pull out of him and tie off and throw away the condom before he’s curling back up against Zuko’s warm side, cuddling up underneath his arm. “That was _awesome._ ”

“I think I’m drunk again?” Zuko mumbles, “I feel drunk again. Is that normal?” He _sounds_ a little drunk, and Sokka muffles a laugh into his ribs.

“I don’t think you’re drunk,” he points out, then gestures to the window and the sun shining into Zuko’s bedroom. “I’m pretty sure you’re just hungry. Or I’ve managed to get you drunk off of my magic dick. One or the other.”

“I don’t care if I just had the best orgasm of my life, I’ll still knock you out if I have to.” Zuko sounds wiped out but that doesn’t stop him from his mission to be as warm and inhumanly cuddly as possible. “Oh my god.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I just—“ Zuko glares at the window like it’s personally keyed his car, “I just got laid. In the _middle of the day_.”

Sokka snorts. 

“Jesus, that’s your hang-up? Afternoon delights are _great._ Well, mid-morning delight, I guess.” Afternoon delights are great. Morning delights are great. Middle-of-the-night delights are great. Sokka wants to try out every single one of them with this man. He drops a noisy kiss onto Zuko’s cheek and feels it heat up under his lips. “Oh my _god._ How are you like this?”

“I’m not like anything.” Zuko rolls over and makes a solid attempt to bury his head under his own pillow like an ostrich. He fails, mostly because Sokka is currently on top of his pillow but also because Sokka’s phone goes off somewhere from the floor. “Ugh. Get that.”

“You ain’t the boss of me,” Sokka tells him and proceeds to do exactly as he says, flopping over and digging his phone out of his discarded pants pocket. “It’s just a text anyway—oh, good grief.”

“What?”

“Um.” Sokka, for the first time in a long while, is completely speechless. And also probably owes Aang an apology, because he’s got about fifteen text messages and only three of them contain words. The other dozen are photos of him and Zuko from last night, being drunk and clingy and _wow_ , there were a lot of people in Toph’s house who got a front row show. It’s not like Sokka’s easily embarrassed—his bar is making sure that clothing stays on in public, which it _did,_ but Zuko is a little more self-conscious about pretty much everything. “We were, uh. Real obvious last night.”

Zuko raises his eyebrow in a silent question and sits up; Sokka hands over his phone to show him his personal favorite. It’s the two of them on the couch, Zuko perched on his lap like he belongs there. They look like they’re having an important conversation, except that Sokka knows for a fact that after drink number three, the only things that came out of his mouth were come-ons and horny bullshit. Photo!Zuko looks like he’s enjoying Sokka’s horny bullshit, though, and photo!Sokka?

Photo!Sokka looks at Zuko like he’s the only thing on the planet worth looking at.

Zuko gapes at it for a long moment.

“...Who even took this?” He asks finally.

Sokka shrugs.

“Aang, probably. He sent it, anyway. We should probably tell him sorry for being such pains in the asses. You remember the drive home?”

Zuko snorts.

“I remember him trying to drop you off at your apartment and you refusing to get out of the car because your hand was stuck to mine and you ‘didn’t want to rip the glue’.”

“You helped! You were holding my hand, you shit.”

“You told him that if he separated us, you would send him snapchats of you crying all night.”

“Okay, but—“

“ _And_ you were also the one who made him drive through Taco Bell on the way back to _my_ apartment, because that was the only place you’d agree to get out of his car. It sounds like you were the pain in the ass. _I_ was perfect.”

Sokka sputters in indignation and has no other option but to throw his arms around Zuko’s neck and crush him to his chest.

“You tried to share your chalupa with me and spilled lettuce all over Aang’s backseat,” Sokka tells him with diabolical glee, “And then, what was it? Oh, that’s right. You tried to challenge him to a duel when he tried to hand you a napkin to pick it up, except that you were so sad about your lettuce that you got all teary-eyed and asked him why he hated you.”

“No, no, no, _shut up_ ,” Zuko chants into Sokka’s left tit and tries to stick his fingers in his ears.

“That won’t help you, sweetheart,” Sokka croons, delighted when Zuko’s ears go pink, and gives him a squeeze. “It’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s _awful._ I _am_ a pain in the ass when I’m drunk.”

“You’re not that bad!” Sokka feels—not very bad, but a little bit bad for teasing him so much when it seems like he’s actually kind of upset about it. “You’re always a really sweet drunk.”

“...pretty sure that most people would disagree with you on that one.”

“Okay, fine, so your stranger danger vibes get _way_ worse when you’re drunk! That’s fine—we’re not strangers so you're always sweet to us, so who cares? Even when you’re being a pain. I remember it being pretty cute, and you know that Aang doesn’t really get mad. You would know if he was mad. You could have done _way_ worse shit. You could have—I don’t know, you could have tried to steal Appa or something.” That’s a mistake, because the horror on Zuko’s face is genuine.

“I’m not a _monster_. I would never in a thousand years steal Aang’s _therapy dog_.”

“Oh my god, I know, okay, I know. You would never do that. I’m fucking this up.” Sokka pets his hair a little and sighs. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“God, yes.”

* * *

They end up at Taco Bell even though it’s barely ten in the morning. 

At some point during the drive, Sokka texts Aang to let him know that they’re both alive, grateful, and sorry for being so much trouble—that last bit is from Zuko, because Sokka has sense and knows that any grief he causes will be paid back tenfold because Aang only gets to be a grownup when the rest of them are idiots. 

“I don’t know how you can drink those.”

“Sweetie,” Sokka says around a mouthful of Baja blast, “You’re eating a crunchwrap and before 11am. I’ve got at least three hickies from you _and_ you already agreed to date me, all before I even gave you the business. You have no leg to stand on here.”

Zuko scowls at him but invests it all into the neatly packaged, roasty tortilla in his hands, and Sokka rubs at his ankle with his foot underneath the table and Zuko still blushes a little over it.

Zuko flicks a piece of lettuce at him and doesn’t tell Sokka that it lands on his head until he’s already touched it and shrieked at feeling something cold and wet in his hair.

“You know, we could have gone somewhere more romantic for a first date,” Sokka says consideringly in between bites of cheesy potatoes. “You know, with mood lighting and shit. Am I setting the bar too low for you?”

Zuko snorts and steals one of his cinnamon twists.

“Come on,” he says, “You know me better than that.” He grins crookedly across the table, reaches out to give Sokka’s hand a quick squeeze. “What do I need with all that shit? I’ve got everything I want right here.”

* * *

  
  



End file.
